


First Stitches

by evelynIttor



Series: Hurt/Comfort Comment Fic [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comment Fic, First Aid, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stitches, Teen Dean Winchester, Teen Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynIttor/pseuds/evelynIttor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's say it's the first time Sam's around on a hunt when Dean gets hurt seriously. He's hurt enough that he can't possibly deal with his own wounds, but he's conscious enough to walk Sam through it (maybe talking Sam through his first stitches). And then Sam's totally nervous and panicking because he's never done it before and he doesn't want to hurt Dean, and Dean has to be the one comforting his little brother.</p>
<p>Written for LaueHime's Winchester Festival of H/C</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Stitches

"Dammit Sam!" John Winchester barked, dropping his rifle to the ground and pulling the handgun from the back of his pants. "Dean!" He called out, waiting for the faint reply before giving chase through the woods after the thing.

Sam fell to his knees on the cold forest floor. He hadn't meant to, it was a mistake. "Dean?" He asked, gently reaching out to touch his brother's shoulder.

Dean groaned at the contact and curled a little, his legs stretching out and turning to face Sam. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded, his face blurry with tears. He'd screwed up, Dad was going to kill him when he got back. Dean might die. Dean was hurt. "How bad is it?" He asked.   
Dean took a deep breath and lifted his hand his side. The lack of pressure enough for the flow of blood to resume. "I can't really see it. Can you?" He motioned to the wound and started to carefully pull his shirt back from bloodied flesh.

The thing's claws had torn deep into his flesh and Sam clapped a hand over his mouth at the sight of the blood welling up and dripping down his brother's side. It looked painful and it smelled like meat and blood. "It looks bad. Really bad. I'm going to call 911." He announced, getting to his feet to head back to the Impala.

Dean craned his neck and made a hissing sound as the movement jarred his body. "Sam, stop it. Sit down. It's not too bad. Dad can fix it when he gets back."

"We can't just sit here. It's wet." Sam protested, squatting next to Dean. "I'll help you back to the car. Can you walk?"

Dean didn't dignify that with a response, but he let Sam help him to his feet and he couldn't hold back a cry of pain when he was finally standing. "Come here." He put his arm around Sam's shoulders and leaned as much of his weight as he could without falling over.

Ever so slowly they made their way back through the forest, Sam keeping his eyes on the ground and guiding Dean around sticks and logs when he saw them in time.

"Almost there." He murmured, as the trees started thinning out around them. "Do you think Dad got it yet?" 

"Did you say something?" Dean asked, lifting his head from where it was resting on his chest. "Sorry Sam, I missed it."

"Whatever." Sam hauled him along for another few hundred metres, sighing with relief when the car came into view. "Do you have the keys?"

"Pocket." Dean said and slumped to the ground next to the car as Sam unlocked it, opened the trunk and got out the first aid kit.

"Dean?" Sam glanced at array of tools and medicines before him in the metal box. "What do I do?"

"Help me into the backseat." Dean ordered. "Find the other cell phone and check to see if Dad's left a message yet."

Sam did as he was told. It took both of them working carefully together to lift Dean into the back and Sam found a blanket to cover him up with. He banged around in the front seat, checking under the chairs and in the glove compartment for the other cell phone. 

"There aren't any messages." Sam said, hoping that Dean was paying attention. "Dean?" He looked back over the seat. "Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I'm just peachy. Gimme the phone." He offered out the hand that wasn't clamped against his side.

"What do we do?" Sam asked as Dean scrolled through the previous text messages. 

"We're going back to the motel." Dean flipped the phone closed. "Drive carefully. Try to avoid any bumps and don't speed. You have some ID on you?"

Sam pulled out the fake Driver's License that Dad had given him a few months ago. He really didn't think that he could pass for 16. He was tallish and thin, but his face was smooth and every time he looked in the mirror, a little kid looked back at him. "Yeah, I'll be careful." He agreed and turned the key.

He drove slowly over the back roads, weaving around pot holes and puddles. The ding from the phone in Dean's hand startled him and he jerked at the wheel, nearly sending the car into the ditch.

"Sam!" Dean snapped. "What happened?"

Sam slammed on the breaks and sat breathing heavily, the car standing still in the middle of the road. "What did Dad say?" He listened as Dean opened the phone and he heard the soft click of the buttons in the quiet car.

"Keep driving." Dean ordered, the phone snapping shut. "Back to the motel." 

"What did Dad say?" Sam asked, cautiously pressing down on the gas pedal again, and slowly coaxing the car down the road. 

"Don't worry about it. We've got bigger problems." Dean took a deep breath. "It's going to be okay Sam. You're gonna help me, just get me home."

Sam drove faster this time. Still well below the speed limit, but the roads were empty and he stopped at red lights and stop signs and twenty minutes later he turned into the parking lot of the motel. Parking wasn't something he'd had a lot of practice at, but he pulled more or less straightly into the place in front of their room and turned the car off.

"Dean? We're here." He said, looking into the backseat.

"Good work." Dean whispered. "You need to unload the car. Bring me in last."

"Right." Sam nodded and took the room key out of his pocket. He brought in the first aid kit and the backup weapons. The big bottle of water and the cooler bag of food came in too. It was time for Dean.

"Careful." Dean warned, letting Sam tug him towards the open door of the car. His shirt was wet with blood and Sam marvelled at the cleanliness of the seat beneath him. "Wait." Dean ordered when his feet hit the ground. "Grab the blanket and the phone. We're gonna need them."

Sam wrapped the blanket around Dean and supported him as best as he could for the short distance from the car to the bed closest to the door.

"Bring me the first aid kit and go lock up the car." Dean ordered once he was situated on the bed. 

Sam came back a minute later and secured the door behind him, making sure to pour an extra thick salt line in front of the door. 

"Dean? Are you okay?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his heart speeding up at the sight of the ugly wound.

Dean managed a weak smile. "I'll be okay. Dad'll be back tomorrow. You'll have to go pick him up after sundown." He added, trying to take Sam's mind off of the immediate problem. "Now, I need your help."

Sam swallowed and glanced at the wound. "Yeah."

"Go wash your hands." Dean ordered as he sorted through the first aid kit and selected a few items. He tried to set things up a little for Sam, make his first time a little bit easier.

"Can't we just go to a hospital?" Sam asked, his fingers were dripping wet and he'd stripped down to just a t-shirt.

"Not bad enough, come here." Dean ordered, patting the bedspread beside him. "It's gonna be okay." He said as Sam's breath sped up. "We'll get through it together."

Sam nodded and took the bottle of whiskey that Dean pressed into his hands. "Do I have to?"

"I can't do it on my own." Dean answered. "It's too awkward. The stitches would be too tight."

"Yeah." Sam twisted the top off the bottle and grimaced as he looked at the wound again. "Do I have to?"

Dean bit his lip and pulled his hand off of the gash. The air stung and he could only imagine what the alcohol was going to feel like. "Don't let me down Sam." 

"Here goes." Sam whispered and closed his eyes, his hand shaking as he extended the bottle.

"Open your eyes." Dean ordered. "Need to see what you're doing."

Sam blinked his eyes open a crack and turned the bottle so a slow stream dribbled out. At first the liquid just seemed to hang in the air, descending slowly down. It hit Dean's skin all at once and time started rushing past again.

"Uhhhh." Dean moaned, his fingers digging into the ugly comforter on the bed.

"Dean, Dean, are you okay?" Sam plunked the bottle down on the bedside table. "I hurt you."

"Had to be done." Dean grunted. "Okay, what's next?"

Sam took a deep breath. His hands were shaking. "Pain meds, pain meds are next."

"Alcohol wipes." Dean ordered. "Get it cleaned out. Use the penlight to check for debris. Wipe down the skin on either side."

"Right, right." Sam tore at the packing of the wipes and tried to steady his hand as he wiped the blood gently away from Dean's skin. "Sorry, sorry." He murmured as Dean hissed. "I'm sorry."

"Just keep going." Dean said, closing his eyes and trying to relax, his muscles were too tense and they were still in the easy parts.

Sam dropped the dirty wipes into the room's garbage can and fished the bottle of pain pills out of the kit. "How many can you take?" He asked, opening the bottle to count the number of pills remaining.

"Not those." Dean waved his hand over the supplies he'd gotten out. "I need to help you through this. Here." He tapped the prefilled syringe. "You remember how to do this?"

"Lidocaine?" Sam asked, pulling the cap off the needle. "Goes in shallow, pull it out slow?" He added, trying to remember the last time that Dean had given him stitches. He'd managed to block most of the experience out.

Dean nodded. "C'mon." He turned so the wound was closer to Sam and forced himself not to look away in case he needed to offer advice or a steadying hand. 

"Dean?" Sam's hands shook as he brought the needle closer and touched the point of it to Dean's skin, making a small angle.

"You can do it." Dean said, gripping the comforter. He didn't want to move when the needle went in, Sam needed this to be as easy as possible. 

"Okay?" Sam asked, the needle still just resting on Dean's skin.

"Do it." Dean ordered, fighting the urge to look away.

Sam slid the needle in, nice and shallow along the edge of the wound. He took a deep breath when it was all way the way in and slowly pulled it back, depressing the plunger and trailing the local anaesthetic along behind him. He pulled the needle out and put the cap back on.

"Dean?" He glanced at his brother's face and took in his twisted expression of pain. "I'm sorry, I didn't- I hurt you."

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Sam, relax. Go wash your hands again." Dean ordered. "Put some gloves on when you come back." Sam headed to the bathroom and Dean looked down at the wound. There was a line of swelling where Sam had trailed the drug and he could feel it burning, but it would go away eventually, to be replaced with blissful numbness.

Sam's hands were still shaking as he pulled on the gloves. "Dean, let's use butterfly bandages. It's not too deep..." He trailed off, looking at the floor.

"Sam, you have to do this." Dean poked at the wound, he could sort of feel it, but the sensation was muted, like there was a layer of water between him and that part of his body. "Look." He pulled on one edge of his injury. "You see this, it's too deep. If you don't sew me up, it's gonna get worse. It'll hurt a lot more and it'll get infected."

Sam swallowed and nodded. "Right. I'm sorry." He said again, his voice sounded thick and Dean could hear the tears he was swallowing back.

"The needle driver broke." Dean opened a little plastic bag. "You're gonna use this needle. Just like sewing up the holes in your jeans." He motioned to the sterile suture packet and the scissors in another little plastic bag. They didn't really sterilize things, just boiled them and stuck them into bags until they were needed. It wasn't like Dad had access to an autoclave.

Sam threaded the curved needle with the suture line and knelt on the bed. He gently pressed against the edge of the wound. "Can you feel that?"

"Nope, go ahead." Dean lifted his arm to pull the skin a little closer together. "Remember, not too tight."

Sam nodded and inserted the needle at the bottom of the wound. Ever so carefully he pulled it through, the string tugging along behind it. As carefully as he pulled, Dean could still his flesh shifting with the thread and it turned his stomach. He didn't like the feeling of the suture line in his skin, never had.

It took Sam a long time to place each stitch and tie it off. His stitches were lopsided and Dean kept reminding him not to pull them so tight. His hands shook more now, worried that something would go wrong with each stitch that he tied off.

"Good?" He asked when he reached the other side of the wound, a crooked line of black stitches behind him. 

Dean swallowed and craned his neck to inspect his brother's handiwork. His side was red and inflamed and just looking at the wound brought back flashes of the pain and a reminder that the lidocaine wasn't going to last forever. "Not too bad. What's next?" He prompted, wanting so badly for this to be over with.

"Alcohol again?" Sam asked, picking the whiskey up from the side table.

Dean closed his eyes and nodded. "Yep."

"And then I'll cover it." Sam added. "To keep it clean."

"Sounds good." Dean kept his eyes closed and Sam didn't say anything, but his knees shook the bed and his breath quickened and Dean knew when it was coming. 

It didn't burn at first. The lidocaine had everything on the surface nice and numb. But as it dribbled down and soaked in, it burned deep inside of him.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, sticking a large gauze pad over the wound and taping it down. It was too tight, not enough airflow, but Dad could fix it when he came back tomorrow.

Dean nodded. "Good work Sammy." He rolled onto his back, the pain almost over. "Now pass me those pills." He held out his hand and waited, the jingle of the bottle reassuring.

"How many?" 

Dean shrugged. "Two and write down what time it is. I can't remember right now, but I'll need to take more."

Sam put two pills into his hand and Dean grabbed the whiskey instead of the offered water bottle.

"Ah Sam, don't look at me like that." He whined, putting the whiskey back, minus his generous swig.

"I'll just clean up." Sam dumped the rest of the open package of sutures into the trash can and put the needles and scissors back in the kit to be sterilized later when they got a chance. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean's voice was quiet, he was exhausted and Sam wasn't much better off.

"Do you want some antibiotics?" He lifted the jar of veterinary grade penicillin out of the cooler bag.

Dean sighed. He didn't want to have to walk Sam through this. It wasn't simple like the lidocaine, everything had to be set up and his brain couldn't do the bodyweight calculations right now.

"You should have some." Sam decided on his own and opened the first aid kit back up, fishing around for alcohol swaps and a clean syringe. He read through the pamphlet that had come with the drugs and Dean opened his eyes to watch Sam pour whiskey over the top of the bottle and count something out on his fingers.

"You got it?" He asked as Sam screwed the needle onto the syringe and opened up the cleaned top of the drug container.

"1.5 millilitres." Sam answered, bending closer to see the tiny numbers printed on the side of the syringe. He brandished it at Dean, ripping open the alcohol swap. "Can you clean it? My hands are kinda full."

Dean's arms felt warm and heavy, but he coaxed them to obey him and grabbed the swap out of the air, his arm dropping back down to his side. "Tired." He yawned as he tugged his jeans down enough. The drug was meant to be injected into the thighs of cows and horses, he didn't have any muscles that compared.

"Be quick. And no angle for this." Dean warned, rubbing the cool swab over his skin, it pulled at his stitches to reach around.

The penicillin was thick and Sam pushed harder to force it out of the syringe, not quite depressing it all the way before he started to pull it out.

"Wait!" Dean grabbed his hand and forced it back down. "Get it all out. Don't trail it."

Sam pushed harder and Dean dug his fingers into Sam's wrist as it burned and stung deep in his hip. Something splashed off his hand and trickled down the back of it and he let go of Sam's hand to look at the liquid.

"Sorry." Sam said quietly, capping the needle and taking all of the first aid supplies off of the bed. 

"Sam, come here." Dean ordered, waiting until his brother approached the bed, staring down at the ugly motel carpet. "Sam, it's okay."

Sam turned his head up. His cheeks were stained with tears and he threw himself onto the bed next to Dean, jostling him a little. He grabbed Dean's shirt and buried his face in it, his tears quickly soaking the fabric. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whispered into Dean's shoulder over and over again. 

"Hey Sammy, it's not your fault." Dean tried to back away a little. Sam didn't weigh much, but he was pressing Dean down into the mattress and pushed up at the ache in his hip and pulled at his stitches. "You just made a mistake and it's gonna be okay."

"Dad won't think so." Sam sobbed.

"You let me deal with Dad. Besides, think of how impressed you'll be. You put in some decent stitches."

"I did?" Sam pulled his head away from Dean's dirty t-shirt. "I've only practiced on the meat before. And you know, patching clothes."

"I think you did an excellent job." Dean said. And yeah, it wasn't too bad. Better than his first stitches. But Dad had been a little too drunk to walk him through those and there hadn't been any lidocaine to smooth things over.

Sam settled on the bed, snuggling in closer. "I never want to do that again." He said quietly.

"But if you had to?" Dean pressed.

"I would do them for you."


End file.
